Naked
by J. M. Flowers
Summary: Booth and Brennan spend the evening at home just like Temperance said; naked. (Season 7)


**AN: **My first adventure into the fanfic writing of Booth/Brennan. I started watching the show about two or three weeks ago and have been marathoning through it. Completely obsessed, but I'm only on the 7th season, so bear with me while I placate my muse. I can usually be found over on the Grey's Anatomy board writing Callie and Arizona fic, so this is totally new territory. I hope I've done your beloved characters justice!

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**Naked**

She starts removing clothing as soon as she's through the front door; jacket tossed onto the back of a chair, shoes kicked into the closet. She lifts her shirt over her head desperately, dropping it to the floor before her fingers are behind her back, unhooking the clasp of her bra. The straps drop from her shoulders, heavy breasts falling free from their constraints. She sighs, grateful.

She collapses onto the couch next, hands instinctively resting on the swell of her belly, the swell of her feet propped up on the coffee table. She feels... large. Uncomfortably large, but better than she had all afternoon, with yet another getting-too-small bra pinching at her growing breasts. She thinks if she can ever get around to removing her pants, an evening of nakedness is exactly what she needs.

Booth stumbles through the door next, having been delegated the role of grabbing their take out from the back seat. He stills when his eyes finally lift from the floor, flicking from her face to her breasts and back up. "I didn't think you were serious about being naked all evening," he says, a certain streak of awe in his tone. The same awe that always seems to fill his voice as he hovers over her, softly giving her permission to release.

"I said that my breasts hurt," she offers by way of explanation, "My bra is too small." She rubs a slow, gentle circle around her belly button, smiling at the way his eyes follow the movement. She truly hadn't stated her plans with any implication, but watching the way his pupils dilate - much like they had in the car that afternoon - squeezes at something inside of her. Something... primal.

He sets the food on the coffee table, the warm smell of Chinese food wafting towards her even through the plastic bag. She toys with leaning forward for it, abandoning her comfortable position in exchange for an egg roll, but he blocks her way, intercepting to press a kiss against her lips.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his hands covering hers on her swollen abdomen. He guides them in his own circular motion, both of them smiling as their daughter kicks beneath their fingertips. "So beautiful," he repeats, his eyes ghosting down her form to her navel. He presses another kiss there, between their hands, the bristle of his facial hair tickling at her skin.

She slips a hand out from under his, running it slowly through his hair as he whispers to the child within her. She waits until he kisses the stretched skin once more before using a hand at the back of his neck to guide him up to her face. He smirks in the second before she wraps her mouth around his, her tongue flicking out to trace its way across his lower lip.

His own lips open hungrily, welcoming her tongue into his mouth. He bites at it gently, the pressure sending a pulse through her. A tingle erupts within her stomach, far different than the shifts of their child. She moans into his mouth, pushing her tongue roughly against his own. He reciprocates with a roll of his jaw, the movement applying a new sensation against her lower lip.

They pull apart slowly, reluctantly, both sucking in air but not simply out of breathlessness. While the kiss was intoxicatingly breath stealing, it's something else all together that has them panting.

"Maybe you should take your shirt off, too," she suggests, voice husking low in her range. Her fingers trail to his stomach, already tugging at the fabric tucked into his pants. An obvious bulge is forming below his belt, but she keeps her focus on unbuttoning. She wants skin.

His skin.

He struggles to help her, standing up straighter as he undoes his tie and tosses it over his shoulder. He starts with the buttons at the top, both of them frantically pulling them apart until their fingers meet somewhere in the middle. He tugs the shirt hurriedly off his shoulders, throwing it away from himself with complete disregard before leaning back down to capture her lips again.

Her hands wander, nails scraping slowly down his biceps and then hooking around his back to pull him closer against her. He catches himself with two arms on either side of her head, grasping the back of the couch tightly. It leaves very little space between them, her breasts just barely grazing his chest, her nipples taut from the cold air and her own arousal.

She hisses as the contact, pulling away from their kiss with her eyes still closed, a wince etched across her features. He leans back quickly, catching himself in a seated position on the coffee table and freezing there, her feet between his legs.

He watches as her eyes flutter open, bright blue and apologetic. He shakes his head before she can speak, rubbing soothingly up and down her thigh in an effort to tell her it's okay. He understands.

Except she's not really good with social cues and her hormones are all out of whack and her eyes tear up as soon as she opens her mouth to explain herself. "Just give me a bit," she pleads, still desperate for him, grabbing for his hands.

"Shh, shh," he whispers, lifting a leg over hers so he can drop onto the couch next to her. He runs a hand down the side of her face, thumb wiping at a single tear that's spilled over. "You hurt, it's okay," he swears, pressing a soft kiss into her temple. "Let's just eat naked, that's fun."

She forces a smile, leaning her face into his hand, relishing the warmth of him; the way his presence relaxes her and excites her all at once, the chemicals in her brain going crazy. It feels like a completely irrational phenomenon, but there's another warmth settled between her thighs that would beg otherwise.

"I'm sorry," she whimpers, swallowing roughly around the lump in her throat.

"It's okay," he promises, stroking her hair off her face, all the frantic energy of his movements slowed into something more caring. Understanding. Protective.

She sets her weight against him, tucking her chin under his while being mindful of where her breasts land. He lets out a breath, rustling her hair on top of her head and making her eyes close instinctively.

This is nice, too, though. This is the skin she craved; the natural heat of his torso pressed against the side of her. His free hand circles around their child absentmindedly, much like she finds herself doing throughout the day whenever her fingers aren't adorned by gloves. That fact alone sends a strange sensation through her, vaguely alerting her to something that makes her love him even more.

"I love you," he murmurs, his lips buried in her hair.

"I love you, too," she answers, her hand wrapping tighter around his bicep.

She wants him, desperately. All of him. His throbbing erection at her clitoris, his breath against her neck and his hands roaming her bare skin. His fingers digging into her ass, tugging her tighter around him, their hips thrusting in time in the moments before they simultaneously orgasm. The wetness she can feel in her underwear is a testament to just how badly she wants him.

The pregnancy has slowed her in many ways, though. Made it harder for her to get close to their tables in the lab, more difficult to crouch over bodies in the field, more exhausted after standing for hours on end. It's made her sore - in her feet and her back and, tonight, her breasts. She'd think it unfair, if not for the constant bubbling in her abdomen as their daughter moves.

She sighs, twisting a little more so she can tuck her face into the curve of his neck, her lips pursing on the skin above his clavicle. "I'm sorry," she says again, teething grazing the bone that lies beneath her mouth.

"Are you hungry?" he asks instead of answering her, directing their attention away from each other and instead to the bag of Chinese food still sitting on the coffee table.

She nods but doesn't move, still holding onto him tightly. "This is the most comfortable I've been all day," she says softly, lifting her chin so she can meet his eyes.

He smirks, looking back at the plastic bag full of food on the table. Her eyes follow his, watching intently as he hooks a socked foot through the handles of the bag, both of them catching on his ankle. Slowly, very slowly, he lifts his leg, bending his knee and letting his hips fall open as he guides his foot towards them. She follows his lead, grabbing the bag when it's close to her hand, laughing at the absurdity of him.

But his method has gotten the food to the couch and he takes it from her hands to set it down on the empty cushion on his other side, rooting through to find a pair of chopsticks and the first container in the bag. He pops it open, digging in with the chopsticks and lifting an offering of chow mein noodles to her lips.

She takes the bite, smiling as she chews. "Later," she murmurs; a promise for the imminent end of their naked evening.

He simply nods. He'll wait for her. Forever, if he has to.


End file.
